SEARCH RESULTS

Artists left to right: Luis Angel Lopez, Lonely Soldier Designs, Facets of Avalon I think I can safely say that I own more and wear more jewelry made by other artists than I do my own. I leave the house with a sparkly new pendant gleefully bouncing around my neck and I'm thrilled to tell the curious how to find a piece for themselves when they, undoubtedly, ask where to purchase. I'm happy believing that perhaps, just maybe, I've made way for the energies of two people, an artist and an audience, to come together in a beautiful partnership of support. And, to me, that's exactly what it means. It's a marriage of spirits, in a way. I know, I know... that's all dreadfully cliche and abundantly dramatic, but I'm totally owning it, without shame, because I want a life in which I can find the poetry in everything. I mark important moments in my life by the talents of others. The scorpion pendant was requested as an homage to my best friend who passed away last year, who was a Scorpio and unabashed, passionate student of astrology. Also, a wire woven collar to commemorate my first overseas flight, and a beautiful Lonely  Soldier Pendant by which to remember my first international workshop. A set of mala beads by Tabatha James that brings to mind the earthy energy and spirit of Glastonbury. Anyone can buy a necklace from a department store. I have. Many times. But it takes a rare and special talent to evoke emotion, to hand over to me an unspoken story or journey and allow me to experience that story, if even only during the moments I wear it.  "I don't want to live in a bubble, in my craft or in the world... I can't, I would be cheating myself out of my generation and the world we live in."  Diane Lane It's an amazing thing, to step outside my bubble of creativity, and  ache for every beautiful, singular moment in which someone steps outside of their own bubble to greet me. What a beautiful gift, to know the soul of others through their art.

This wont be the first time I've mentioned perfectionism, idealism or managing im perfections in art, and I can assure you it is unlikely to be the last. Because it's an important subject. It's (and I think it's safe to assume this is true for most) one of the most prevalent acts of any artist... to judge our own work against an unattainable "ideal". But I say this: perfectionism is the business of gods, not artists. That sounds rather cosmically bold, I know, but when we release ourselves from the bonds of perfectionism we allow ourselves the opportunity to discover possibility. You see that picture up there? Every mistake displayed in that work tried its hardest to embed itself into the shadowy subconscious of my self-doubt. Tried, and failed. Because, ultimately, each misplaced wire, each gap in the weave, each kink in a curve is part of my process... of discovering something new, telling my story, weaving a wonderfully imperfect tale. Perfectionism is boring. It's the story without the characters... all the flawed, refreshing noise that breathes life to the plot. In art, is it important to know your tools and how they interact with the medium? Sure. Is it a practical step towards creative growth to fill your toolbox with established technique? You betcha. That's part of the process, ultimately, to learn the rules and when to break them. To refuse to be swallowed up by the extreme standards we set for ourselves. To acknowledge the "standard" and then dismiss it for a story a little more revealing. Is perfectionism paralyzing your creative flow? Don't identify with the details, but with the the whole. What were you feeling when you began the project? How did that factor into the resultant work? Take a moment, and I admit this is difficult, but take a moment and really digest what your purpose was when creating that last imperfect piece. Because it is imperfect. And that's okay. Because it's also beautiful. And real. And complete. All things that represent a journey taken and finished. Each piece of art a page from our book. Now how do you think a "perfect" story would read? I'm afraid I wouldn't know... as I've never been interested enough to read one. I'll stick with the stories full of characters a little crooked, and a lot more attractive.

Twelve years ago, when I began my journey with jewelry making, when I was a young stay-at-home mother of two, who had moved to a new state with my new husband and struggled to make my way, I was, to be frank, quite alone with my thoughts and stress. Now, don't worry. I wont let this get too weepy, I promise. This isn't a sob story but one, instead, of hope and the power of the creative spirit. Back then, we were a single-income household and I was desperate for a time-sucking, mind-numbing hobby that could distract me from the pile of bills and empty cupboard. It was real life. It was struggle. There are many who will, unfortunately, understand that reality. So, in my desperation.... and it was desperation... to put my mind on things of comfort and ease and simplicity, I discovered jewelry making. Initially, I was so wrapped up (no pun intended) in what I was seeing others do while I researched techniques and styles and aesthetics of the current trends, that I failed to see how I could affordably translate those styles and trends to jewelry. But let's be real. I didn't need a $50 larimar cabochon and 14k gold wire. I didn't need torches or tumblers or dapping sets (I'm still not quite sure how to use those things). I just needed a $2 strand of freshwater pearls from Michael's Arts & Crafts, and a pile of recycled electrical wire. And, ahem, the pliers I'd confiscated from my husband's tool box. So yeah. Beads. Glorious beautiful beads. The local craft store was awash with them. And they were pretty and sparkled and, despite a relatively low price tag, allowed me ample opportunity to test the waters of this new creative endeavor.... and, along the way, offer my anxiety a little reprieve. $2 bought me 16 beads. 16 awesome opportunities to create. And yes, even $2was sometimes a stretch for our budget, so I learned to allow the wire (mostly free and fairly prevalent) to represent my vision and used the beads to accent that vision. And to this day, I am an advocate for the use of beads in wire and metal work. I was recently offered a spread in an un-named prolific magazine on the condition the work submitted utilized no beads. "Beads", they said "are not representative of the quality of our aesthetic". Well, okay then. Needless to say, I declined their offer. Because I love beads. Beads were my gateway drug. They were the snowball before the avalanche. They were the tiny balls of beauty in a life that once couldn't afford much else. So to those who say beads are not for "artists", I say who are you to define for me what art is? Art is a salve for the soul. And for every strand of beads, I had a palm full of remedies. Use your beads, my friends. Go and create. Happy weaving! Nicole

Now I know this may be a little woo-woo for some, but it's a subject near and dear to my heart. Being the analytical sort that I'm sometimes prone to be, the idea that stones might have metaphysical properties has had me somewhat... enamored. There's a beauty in the mysticism and power of nature, that we are, despite our preoccupations and cell phones and technology, just a small part of a wonderful tapestry of energy , for lack of a better word. For the sake of argument (and because it's fun), let's just assume stones have this special ability to affect our physical, emotional and mental capacities, to access within us a little untapped potential and bring a little joy to an otherwise hectic and fevered life. I mean, really now...... how is this a bad thing? As a jewelry artist, gemstones play a vital role in the work I do and the pieces I create.... how I create, I'd even say. I get to be unapologetic with my habit of assigning personality to the shapes my wire form, so much so that, of late, I've taken to naming my creations: the "Goddess Gaia" pendant, for instance, or the "Shakti" pendant. And these creations become an extension of my own energy or vibration, or whatever esoteric word you might like to ascribe to the creation process. I've had, since my childhood, a propensity to fidget. I tap my foot, rub the hem of my shirt between my fingers, move the hair from my face fifteen times an hour. Perhaps this is a symptom of my life-long battle with anxiety, or perhaps (if I dare get a little spiritual here) it might be the symptom of a disconnect with the energy of earth. Follow me here. Have you ever, even once, perhaps in your youth, owned what many have coined "worry stones"? Those smooth, palm-sized gemological miracles with that glorious little divot perfect for our fidgeting thumbs? I had a whole collection of them. Still do in fact. And, over the years, I've discovered that which stone I choose to soothe my fidgets is entirely dependent on my mood, or the circumstances for my anxiety. When I am sad, for instance, the warmth of citrine is my stone of choice. When I'm anxious, hematite grounds me. When I'm distracted, black tourmaline sings to my creative soul. And, when I ache for a little self-love, amethyst answers the call. Whether or not these properties or uses meet any social "standard" among the metaphysical community is far less important to me than the very organic ways in which these stones find me when most needed. I think there's a beauty to that. To the natural pull we feel to stones, whether we associate that pull with any ethereal, indefinable energy or not. If it pleases us, gives us peace, allows us to smile when we otherwise might have reason to frown, I'd say their purposes in our lives are well met. Tell me, do you have a stone that calls to you when you are sad or anxious? Do you find yourself naturally gravitating towards the peaceful pull of rose quartz or the transforming allure of malachite? I'd love to hear about your experiences with your favorite stones. Leave them in the comments below! And until next time, my gems, happy weaving! Nicole

I will start by clarifying that, without permission (so we're not talking about tutorials here, which each grant their own permissions and terms of use), it is never okay to copy a complete design, not for commercial nor personal use. If you've followed me and my work for even a hot minute, you'll know this tired tirade of mine quite well.  There is a distinct difference between technique or style (not protected by copyright) and design (protected by copyright). Ideally, artists are best complimented when our process is supported through the purchase of our work, or our work is appreciated and shared so that others who are able may purchase it. There's this perpetuating idea that art and profit are mutually exclusive, but I think it's a beautiful thing when artists can support their families doing what they love... which becomes exponentially more difficult when work is copied without permission. While techniques have been used and shared by hundreds and thousands of artists over the years, "there's nothing new under the sun" seems to imply that design is dead, which is an insult to the creative process. New techniques might be far and few between, but new designs are absolutely endless, because the artist's stories are each unique. Taking techniques and weaving them into our own personal stories creates a page in the book of our life. While I love writing tutorials and sharing designs, there are some original works that are very personal to me, that I hold sacred, that have allowed me to explore and express a spiritual journey, even, and the floor falls from beneath my feet when that work is copied without permission. The years I've spent wrapping, beading, drawing, writing poetry, photographing my cats, my sadness and happiness and successes and failures, all of those things come together to complete a creative whole, no matter the medium each project utilizes. So, there's definitely some "preciousness" that we each hold as artists and designers that can sometimes cloud our understanding of the use of technique vs design. If a design is copied, noticeably, recognizably copied... it's not "inspired by". But this is a world of Pinterest, I know. Where everything goes on a DIY board and the internet seems to give everyone carte blanche ownership of every story.... the it's-online-therefore-it's-free mentality. This is when we each have to be accountable for ourselves, protect our own stories as much as we're able, evaluate how we define that "preciousness" we each hold about our art, and give of ourselves and our stories when we can, holding close to what we cannot give, so there's a beautiful circling relationship between artists that protects our individual stories while allowing the collective story to grow. But we also have to be accountable for how we utilize the techniques of others in our own work, how we allow design to influence or inspire us and move us forward creatively, so we aren't tarnishing or muddying our own story when we create. This is just a bloated letter to say that I understand the hurt. I think we've all, at some point, held our work so precious to ourselves that we feel immobilized by the hurt of it being copied by others. And we each have to define for ourselves when and how we'll fight to protect our stories, or where our energy might be better suited. It's a difficult journey for anyone in a creative industry. And while I will never suggest we should enable the behaviors that hurt us, we do have to pick our battles, not just according to law, but also according to our own moral code and the preciousness by which we value our art. So I understand. I get it. I'm with you. I believe in your rights. I understand the preciousness of your art. I strive to support it.... to support you.... to allow you the opportunity to continue to explore your story and express that journey through art. I'm looking forward to your next beautiful chapter. And perhaps some day, I hope, I'll purchase from you a little piece of your story to help move your book along. Nicole

I began my wire wrapping journey more than 10 years ago. It seems ages, yet I'm still learning and inventing and designing and creating with a passion as new as the day I discovered it. This is, in part, due to the vast talents of other jewelry artists who inspired me. And sometimes, that inspiration came in the way of wire wrap tutorials. One such tutorial was the Net Bezel by Eni Oken (pictured below), which was the first tutorial (though certainly not the last) I purchased. Eni Oken is a prolific jewelry artist and zentangle master! Her work is elegant, ethereal and totally wearable, so it's no real surprise she was the first to inspire me to begin my journey with wire. I admit it. I fan-girled. Hard. I scoured her website for tutorials and to ogle her available jewelry, and with each new lesson or design she released, I was totally enamored. There seems to be a rather prevalent opinion in some sub-sets of the jewelry community that work derived from tutorials is somehow "less". Less artistic. Less original. Encompassing less talent. To that I say this: Shush. We are meant to empower the creative endeavors of others. Not belittle them. I discovered there are two popular uses for tutorials, and one is no more or less important or valid than the other: To offer users an opportunity to create without the pressure to design. Whether or not for sale or personal enjoyment, lessons allow freedom from creative stagnation. As inspiration for original work, a jumping-off point for the imagination. And both of these uses are important in furthering the creative process for anyone who utilizes lessons provided by others. Don't let anyone tell you the work you create, whether original or not, is in any way "less". And believe that these lessons are valuable tools to grow your arsenal of skills. The bracelet pictured here is one I created using the technique learned in Eni's lovely Net Bezel tutorial, then embellished with my signature layered weaves. For the first year, however, I had no signature at all. And that was okay. My work looked very much like what she provided in her lesson (minus the elegance and finesse, of course). But I created. And eventually my nets became cleaner. My bails moved from a coil to a basket weave. I embellished these bezels with beaded frames. My experience with wire weaving grew. And I created. Now, some ten years later, I've found my voice, or am still discovering it, at any rate. And this is due in large part to the willingness of Eni and other like-minded artists who share their creative process with the masses. "Whether or not for sale or personal enjoyment, lessons allow freedom from creative stagnation." I provide lessons for a number of reasons. As an homage to those from whom I learned, definitely. But as an artist who experiences the same creative blocks as anyone, lessons allow me to create when my mind is too full of "life". We all worry or stress, and I always appreciated the opportunity to work with my hands without the pressure to "be an artist"... whatever that means, right? Every tutorial I purchased and used, by Eni or Iza Malczyk, IMNIUM or Lonely Soldier (to name a few), was simply another tool in my drawer, as important and useful in my progression as my pliers, my wire, the beads I use... even my own two hands. I owe a great deal of thanks to these talented stars in the wire wrapping world. So thank you. Thank you for the gift of creation, for the freedom from stress and the pressure I (all too often) placed on my shoulders. Thank you for the wonderful opportunity to find my own voice. I hope you find your voice too.

Recently, on a video, someone commented inquiring why I "waste all my time" on copper. Now, those of you who've followed my blog for a hot minute may know exactly why I turn to copper. But some new to my work and my site may be surprised at the multitude of reasons I have at the ready. Let's discuss a few of them! It's pretty. Really, you can't get more basic and essential than aesthetics. As a Capricorn and an earth sign, I love all things reminiscent of the dust and dirt, of the landscape and terrain and beautiful movement of Mother Nature. Copper fills this aesthetic need in me. It's warm and rich and earthy and wraps me up in its color the same as any rolling hill. I enjoy silver, don't get me wrong, but it often feels cold, clinical and industrial to me, so copper is always my preference. It's malleable. Not just in density, but it goes with everything! Yes the metal is easier for me to move and form and shape and curve, but beyond it's physical properties, it looks great with light and dark skin tones, it compliments gemstones from blues to reds and everything in between. And it pops when oxidized way more than any other metal I've used. Copper is affordable. What's affordable for me is affordable for my customer, and my motto has always been "handmade affordable wearable art". I understand there's a public perceived value that places silver and gold well above copper. I also understand that the perceived values of others do not have to (nor should they) mirror my own. I chose jewelry and metals, not based on their financial worth, but on my aesthetic reaction to it. I never want to make a "collectable" piece of jewelry. I want it used and worn and enjoyed. I want to see it dirty and well-loved. I want it to tell a story and for that story to represent a relationship I have with my work and my customers. The worth of a thing is in our love of it. "Find beauty not only in the thing itself but in the pattern of the shadows, the light and dark which that thing provides." Junichiro Tanizaki Now I get it... copper turns skin green. Copper requires more care to maintain its color. These aren't properties many people appreciate about this metal,  but I'm here to set your mind at ease. A variety of conditions can contribute to a discoloration of skin as a result of constant or intermediate contact with copper, including (but not limited to): the use of lotions or soaps, frequency of bathing, temperature and climate, pH balance, and length of exposure. This discoloration should not be confused with an allergic reaction, which is rare, and more likely to occur from ingestion than surface contact. However, if you suspect an allergic reaction, please contact a health care provider. And, while copper jewelry does require more care than it's silver counterparts, and certainly  more than gold jewelry, it's very easy to maintain. A simple, quick bath in a bit of Worcestershire Sauce (yes, you read that right), or a quick brush with a super fine steel wool pad (affordable and easily available at any hardware store) is all that's needed to maintain a beautiful finish. If worn frequently, an occasional gentle scrubbing with dish liquid beneath lukewarm water will keep your copper jewelry clean and fresh. Just dry thoroughly and store in a sealed container when not worn to slow the oxidation process. And that's it! You can enjoy the warm, earthy tones of copper, even enjoy its metaphysical healing properties (which you can read more about here ), without a concern for it's "worth". Beauty and worth is, after all, in the eye of the beholder.

Never. Unpopular opinion, I know. Without the express written permission of the artist, it is never okay to copy their work. And this is not a discussion about the use of tutorials, which all (should) provide their own Terms of Use and permissions. It should be noted, I invite everyone using my tutorials to make and sell those items in any venue or in any number.  This is not to discuss the use of individual design elements or techniques in original creative work. This is also not to discuss creative theft with malicious intent, either, but to discuss a persistent, pervasive belief that "I can make that!" means you have any legal right to do so, without permission. Whether for personal use or sale, neither intention negates the act of theft, its consequences or its impact on artists. According to the US Copyright Office, there is no such number or percentage of change expected (often called the woefully inaccurate "change 10%" rule) before a work is considered original, so to copy in any capacity in which you are not granted permission, is to open yourself to possible legal recourse. While I've done extensive research, read the laws, contacted copyright professionals and experts, I encourage everyone to contact the copyright office themselves to clarify these legal guidelines. I had debated this post for weeks. I had considered my words carefully. Too carefully, in fact, because while I was thinking about what to say, I was saying nothing at all, and becoming a victim of my own reactions to the infringement of my creative efforts. I had once made a conscious decision not to police every incident of theft I experienced, else find myself devoting all my creative energy to protecting my creative rights, instead of actually creating. But this is not to say that copyright infringement hasn't left its scars despite my best intentions. When the conversation of infringement reaches from the shadows of public discourse, I often hear this: "You should consider it a compliment!" Or: "Don't worry about them. Consider it a challenge to improve your own work." Or (and this is the most troubling of them all): "If you put it on the internet, you have to expect that someone will copy it." And while you may expect it, you do not ever have to accept it. And it is not a compliment. It's an insult to the creative process, to the hours each artist dedicates to improving their skill, creating designs and combining the elements of design into cohesive work that represents their creative soul and spirit. It is an insult to enjoy the work enough to copy it but not enough to purchase it and support the artistic vision of those who created it. I understand these are not the subjects many like to entertain, that there is this belief we should focus on the beauty and art of creation, even at the expense of moral and legal discussion. However, as a victim to infringement more than a dozen times in the last month alone, I am finding it a distraction too constant to ignore. I decided it was important to discuss the impact this theft, no matter how innocent the intent, is to the artist who experiences it.... how painful it is to throw yourself into work, into pushing the boundaries of your talents, and find those efforts disrespected. So what is the message here? Common courtesy. It takes 30 seconds to ask for permission, and even less time to respect the response you receive.

(Originally posted 9.24.16) Glastonbury was wonderful. But, before I go further, let me explain why this particular journey defined an important personal process for me. I have social anxiety. Like... it's kind of a big deal. Like... I had to overcome a fear of ordering pizza because my palms started to sweat at the thought of addressing a total stranger on the phone. And through the years, I've faced many discomforts associated with my anxiety... usually entirely against my will or wishes, but faced them I did! I got a job working a call center. That was fun, as you can imagine (insert sarcastic eye roll here). But, it taught me a great many things about asserting myself, showcasing my confidence and embracing my own genuine awkwardness. None of these things have to be exclusive of one another. And, when I was offered the opportunity to teach a workshop in Glastonbury, hosted by the ever-fabulous Glastonbury Wire Studio , there was a brief moment of panic. Which lasted three months. But you know what? I was happy for the discomfort, because I knew that it would be an amazing experience.... even then, all those months ago when plans were put into place. And I was right to trust those instincts. It also didn't hurt to have two of the most amazing hosts in the world, in Tabatha and James, who immediately welcomed me. I even crashed a birthday party. Suck it, social anxiety! But I have to say, those of us who suffer from anxiety are greatly helped by the understanding, care and attention, and kindness of others. Because even though we may have acquired the skills to hide our discomfort, we still experience it. And it is through the grace of others that social pressures are alleviated, and we are allowed to be authentic... not anxious. Thank you, Tabatha and James, for the fabulous opportunity, the amazing conversation, great food and a chance to explore relationships with others free from social pressure. And many thanks to the 16 amazing woman who shared the classroom with me. You're dedication to the craft, to perfection and creative expansion, to building an incredibly relaxed atmosphere all helped this socially anxious wire wrapper find a little peace.

In the post, many moons ago, on a website far far away, I once suggested that it's entirely unnecessary to expand your skill set to reach any social expectations, nor to justify the work you do, or the job title you give yourself. That "your work is worth something no matter what it entails beyond the heart you invest in it" and that you don't owe the world any investment into classes or tutorials or new tools in order to call yourself a jeweler or artist or photographer, or whatever your poison may be. And I say this because I truly believe a single skill, any single skill (in this case, wire wrapping) can provide an endless array of possibilities from which to draw and evoke in our work. I stand by this belief and I'll say it often. A film photographer can never touch a digital camera and still produce new, amazing images every single day. A painter can only use acrylics their entire lives and entrance us with their imagination. And that's really what it's all about, right? The power of our own creativity and imagination. So why expand your skill set at all? Why add more tools to your tool box? I imagine there might never be any reason at all beyond an endless curiosity. I've been (slowly) learning to solder and fold form metal. Can these skills be utilized in my wire wrapping? Of course. Does it enhance my work? Not necessarily. New skills and tools do not equal better work. Just different work. So, for me, learning a new skill is less about improving my work (ie, becoming a "real" jeweler, as perceived by large subset of society) and more about a joy of discovery. Naturally, I can continue to discover new designs in wire wrapping, new ways to utilize wire to express my creative goals. I never need to learn soldering or fold forming or cold connections. But, they are cool and I have an insatiable desire to learn, to always be learning, to never know all of anything. "Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever." ~ Mahatma Gandhi It is not about how that skill can increase sales or improve my business or get me noticed or validate my work to society. For me, it's about nothing beyond what the journey with it can teach me.... teach me about myself and my art and my self-expression. If you learn a new skill, learn it for you. Grow from it. Enjoy it. But know that you don't owe it to anyone to do so. That it does not make you a better artist or jeweler or photographer or writer. It just makes you a different one. And what you do with that newness, my friend, is a whole other story.

That's right. I said it. You may not agree, and that's fine. Opinions like this are just as subjective as the statements which spawn them and we can only decide for ourselves what we believe to be true. How do we define "mastery"? This doesn't have to relate to jewelry, of course, but any creative or artistic endeavor, skill or trade. And more importantly, who defines it? Who, I wonder, is so versed in anything that they can declare themselves or anyone else a master of it? These are the questions I ask myself and put before you, dear reader. I don't have an answer. I've never met a master of anything and would definitely not consider myself one. I think, on some level, there is this idea that being a master of some skill somehow means there is nothing left to learn. That all the world can teach us has been absorbed. One definition of the term mastery is "control or superiority over someone or something" and I'm not sure how anyone could possibly ever control the creative flow that results in artistic work. I'm not sure I like to box the idea of creativity into something tangible enough to be mastered at all. Can you have skill? Of course. And skill can be learned. Skill can be honed and perfected. But I'm not sure that, for me, equates to a mastery over something, especially not a creative endeavor when often its success or failure is entirely dependent upon our own (or others) interaction with the endeavor... the opinions we form about it. And we all know what they say about opinions..... "The greatest deception men suffer is from their own opinions." ~Leonardo da Vinci So I ask you, and would love to hear your opinions below, how do you define mastery? Do you believe it's attainable? And if it is, should it be? I've never considered myself a master of anything and, for me, that's not a bad thing. It's not a judgment against myself. I could make jewelry, draw, photograph, paint, write for the next 20 years and still never be a master of any one of them. I'm not sure I'd want to be. Somehow, for me, there is a loneliness there... in the idea of mastery. I'd much rather surround myself with the joy of failures, of endless discovery and I always.... forever....want my art to teach me something new every day. I always want to be its student. How about you??

"I have devoted my life to uncertainty. Certainty is the death of wisdom, thought, creativity." ~ Shekhar Kapur I don't know about you, but that's some deep stuff right there. This idea that if we dedicate ourselves, our efforts, talents, emotional and physical expenditures to an uncertain outcome, we release ourselves from a sort of prison of expectation. That we have to sacrifice, if sacrifice is even the appropriate word, our ideals and just allow our creativity to exist on its own terms. What a beautiful, freeing approach, when we can reject the expected, and accept the reality, in whatever incarnation it manifests. There's beauty there, I think. Sure, there's an element of risk involved. We can always prick our fingers on the unpredictable edge of the "unplanned". But I wonder if the risk isn't worth the reward... seeing the bloom of creative passion, expressed in unabashed abandon, that we might otherwise hamper with the pressure of our own expectations. Gives me all kinds of warm and fuzzies just thinking about it and, I suppose, this will always be a risk I welcome. I sometimes wonder if I'm too safe. Do the expected thing, make my apologies for it, and do it again. I wonder if I take enough risk. I wonder on the value of risk. It's late, and I tend to romanticize these things, internalize them and twist them all up with my own creative processes just to see what happens. Perhaps that's a risk all on its own. And then I wonder if I appreciate the risks I've been allowed to take in my life, if I fully understand their lasting presence, their effect on every future creative endeavor. It's kinda heavy when you think about it. Or maybe it's just me.